


The Visiting Hour

by Ligeila



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Post-antarctica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ligeila/pseuds/Ligeila
Summary: Belladonna visits Remy in a hospital. Post-Antarctica one-shot.





	The Visiting Hour

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Fanfiction.net in 2012. Time came to move it here.

Palm trees swayed in the wind casting wavering shadows over the elegant white structure. It was late afternoon; shadows were long and provided short respite from Florida’s merciless sun. Her black sedan pulled to a stop in front of the main door. She turned off the engine but didn’t get out. She didn’t drive a lot these days; it was more fitting that she would have a driver. She looked at the house. The facade had elegant lines and large windows. 

This place was new – built to be airy and light – soothing. She wasn’t sure whether or not she should go in. Her hands were sweaty on the steering wheel. Funny, she hadn’t been all that nervous while driving over from the airport. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the steering wheel and told herself that she had no reason to worry, that everything was going to be fine, that she should go in and see the man she loved and hated in equal measures and all would be fine, just fine. With a deep sigh she righted herself and got out, shutting the door firmly behind her. She faced the glass doors that had flowerpots on both sides and squared her shoulders; the steps leading to the house were some of the hardest she had ever taken. 

The glass door closed silently behind her and she made her way to the receptionist. A woman in her mid forties by the looks of it and her nametag read “Melanie” greeted her with a warm smile. She was paid to be nice to everyone. 

“How can I help you?”

Was there anyone who could really help her? Most days it seemed too late, too hopeless, most days she didn’t even want to be helped anymore. She smiled hollowly back. 

“I’m here to see my husband, Remy LeBeau.”

“Oh, of course! I will ask someone to show you the way, Ms LeBeau.”

She didn’t use the name LeBeau. All her real documents showed her name as Boudreaux, still. She never had gotten around to changing her name. She didn’t correct the receptionist. 

“Would you like to talk to the doctor as well?”

She was jolted out from the thoughts. The doctor? Yes, she probably should. 

“Yes.”

Melanie gave a strange look but picked up the phone to make the calls. Had she sounded too harsh? Maybe. She wasn’t much of a people’s person. Never had been. It was hard to be one if you had killed so many of them for a living. She looked around in the lobby – tasteful, elegant and very expensive. It seemed like the waiting area for a very exclusive spa. But this was no spa – this was one of the most expensive and best private hospitals in the country. Thieves practically owned it, she knew. Assassins also had shares in several similar facilities all over the world. In their business injury was more than probable and the right and discrete treatment a must have. The lack of procedure in accepting her she knew that it was not due to weak security, her face had probably been scanned the moment she turned into the drive way, they knew full well who she was but some forms had to be played out. An the mistake with the name was no mistake. 

A nice young nurse approached her, her name was Lauren and she smiled a lot. Belladonna didn’t feel like keeping up the fake smiles. Apparently Remy’s doctor was tied up at the moment and would meet with her after she had seen Remy. Was that a good idea? She barely had an idea what she was walking in on. She felt very nervous again. Would Remy even want to see her? After all these years apart, when their last meeting had been anything but nice? Maybe she should not have come? She was just about to tell the nurse that she had changed her mind when they stopped by some glass door leading out to the gardens and the pool. 

“You must understand that Mr. LeBeau is very weak still. Don’t be alarmed when he nods off in the middle of your conversation, sit with him or leave quietly. He can’t speak much, yet, but he’s improving. Okay?”

She nodded numbly, her mouth was dry and it was as if she was the one who had trouble speaking. Then they were out in the garden, among flowers and the sound of birds. It was nice and shady – large trees spread their branches in luscious cover. She was led to the pool side where a person was seated in a wheelchair; there was another chair next to him, empty. She was left alone. 

She had no idea what to do. She had never been this nervous, not even before her wedding day. She stood and looked at the man who was her husband, whose wife she was and it seemed like she was looking at a stranger. He was so thin, not even when they had first met and Remy had still been nothing but a street urchin had he been so thin. His eyes were covered with heavy bandages, so were his hands. She couldn’t tell if he was awake of asleep. 

“I didn’t know I looked that awful.” 

The voice was Remy’s. It was raspy and dry and it sounded painful but it was his. Belladonna nearly jumped when she heard it. It would have been very unbecoming of a Master Assassin. But this was Remy – he had already seen her at her worse and now she was seeing him at his weakest – it was only fair and she didn’t have to invulnerable with him. 

“You don’t.”

He tilted his head just a little. She knew that gesture – it was achingly familiar – it meant “really” with a shit load of sarcasm. It was all it took. One little move and she was his again. She stepped over and carefully hugged him. Tears welled in her eyes and she didn’t even know why. 

“Shh.. It’s okay. Belle?”

She hadn’t cried since the night of her wedding, she had taken many hard blows since then but somehow they had all seemed insignificant compared to losing her husband and brother and the future she had planned for in one go. And here they were again. More than five years later. So changed, so bitter and so scarred and yet some things were still the same and there was no other person she would let witness her tears than him. She cried because she had allowed herself to hate him so long, she cried because she loved him still, she cried because his pain was hers and she cried because she was happy to see him again, even like this. 

“I’m sorry.”

They said at the exact same time. Both of them smiled. She took a seat and settled herself for a long visit.


End file.
